Poetic Reflections: the little things

We have all heard it said that “the little things” mean a lot, “the little things” are most important, and when we are in a thankful mood we should appreciate “the little things”. But there are people in this world who are terrified of “little things”. I would therefore here and now like to be a voice for them. I am certain that while others gather with loved ones around a feast and pause to be grateful for all they have — the little things included — whether daily or but once per year, those poor nervous souls are quivering somewhere in a corner, scared and sweating profusely! We’re talking buckets! Buckets, mind you, of cold clammy perspiration!

For them a little thing can amount to a great big whopping colossal thing. The teeny tiniest of spiders, perhaps, might elicit an enormity of terror. Mice are not so large, and often provoke a shriek of dread. Cockroaches, eeewwwww, need I say more? To the clean-minded, a particle of dirt or iota of gunk will induce grave angst. A single solitary germ, invisible to the eye not peering down a microscope lens, is cause for alarm to the health-conscious among us. A “little thing” like breathing, which many of us take for granted, could be a monumental struggle to another. And that blemish or zit upon your face might seem an exorbitant disaster!

That’s right, I’m talking to you. We all have our challenges, our weaknesses, our worries. Some of them big and some of them small. We all cringe at the thought of certain itsy-bitsies. But what about a wrinkle in an otherwise smooth day? Event? Relationship? That doesn’t sound so bad. Nobody’s perfect. We can’t expect our lives to be devoid of bumps or snags any more than we can expect the road ahead to not contain some twists and wrong turns. A few potholes and roadblocks. An occasional washed-out bridge. A dip or fallen tree or breakdown to impede our progress.

The manner we go about coping with the excruciating little setbacks and hindrances of an imperfect life, well, that can vary dramatically. One might be a screamer or curse a blue streak. One could have a panic attack or a hissy fit. One might grow quiet and harbor the anxiety within. Or one could stay calm and deal with it rationally, confront the issue and work it out. This is a choice we make, wittingly or subconsciously, and that choice can change according to the circumstances.

In coping with a tenacious wrinkle, you may try plugging in the old iron and giving it a hardy once-over. Maybe twice. No matter how much elbow grease is applied, however, certain creases or crinkles are tough to subdue. And some minor problems will not be wished away or simply ignored, but need to be handled with patience, with understanding and concern. They demand attention, acknowledgement, respect.

The fine lines on your face, are they not the greatest common fear?

They just mean you’ve lived. And experience has left its mark. They mean you’re not as young as you once were, but you are also not as impulsive and unwise, as shallow and uncertain. You are a better person for them — layered, more accomplished, more interesting. As those lines deepen, so does your character. And isn’t that what truly counts? Being yourself, who you are inside. Who you are to the world. As well as who you believe you are. Looking young is rather overrated; it’s temporary. Looking poised, comfortable with yourself; exuding an aura of confidence and satisfaction, of depth and maturity, that is infinitely exciting and profound!

If we can’t iron out every wrinkle, soothe each fright or insecurity, at least we can learn to be a bit braver instead of whittling our fingernails down to the quick. At least we can take time to notice the little things in life that amount to so much, in a positive or negative sense. At least we might be aware that such details are not trivial; they may add up to something major and significant. Something that shouldn’t be overlooked.

And whuther we are plagued by wee nagging nibbling gnawing rodent doubts . . . or given to arachnophobic qualms, we must not let our trifling negligible willies and woes get the best of us. Daunting our steps. Presenting insurmountable barriers. For then we could find ourselves overwhelmed, perhaps cowering in some corner without a thought in our heads except unintelligible utterances about nothings in particular. Yes, that wouldn’t do. So let’s not do it if you don’t mind. Let us not belittle the Little Things or belabor the obviousness of Big Moments. Enough is enough, I say! And I have said, “Enough!”

On with the poems . . .

~ Published ~
November 30, 2011